I decided to write a second chapter! I hope you enjoy! This one's from Action's POV.
If there's one thing Action hates, it's A-Rab and how that stupid blonde idiot makes him feel. He hates it when A-Rab submits to him and lets Action take out his frustrations on A-Rab's body. He hates it when A-Rab's fingers curl in his hair. He hates it when A-Rab kisses him gently. He hates it the most when A-Rab tells Action he loves him.
Action doesn't understand A-Rab. He doesn't understand this foreign language of love; to him it's more foreign than Spanish or whatever those dumb PRs speak. He doesn't understand how A-Rab doesn't understand what goes on between is a game. It's fake. It doesn't exist. Action knows A-Rab sees what the Jets under Riff and even under Tony used to do to those faggots hanging around Central Park. A-Rab can't possibly be that stupid. Maybe he is. Maybe all those head wounds in rumbles finally got to his tiny brain.
Action knows he isn't a faggot. He isn't one of those swishy sons-of-bitches that still lollygag around Central Park practically begging to get picked up by the cops. Didn't those idiots know anything?
If the gang ever found out what they had been doing the only thing Action could expect was death.
You have A-Rab pressed up against a brick wall. His pants and underwear are around his ankles. You're on your knees sucking him off. He's moaning and groaning and you hear him say, "Jesus, easy, Action."
No one tells you to go easy. So you just suck harder until he comes. You swallow the acrid stuff and jump to your feet; yanking up his jeans. He fumbles to shut them as you smash your lips against his and shove your tongue into his mouth. When he pulls away to breathe he says those three words.
You smack him angrily. How many times do you have to tell this retarded Polack not to say that? Hasn't A-Rab figured out that he is a game, a toy, a fuck buddy? You demand if he understands you. He says he does and then asks you to kiss him again. You refuse and storm away.
Why hasn't he figured out he's no different from those dumb broads you used to screw around with? Once they got clingy just toss them in the trash and move onto the next one.
In the end Action can't stay away for long. He asks A-Rab to come to his house.
A-Rab never says no.
You drag him inside and shove him down onto your mattress. Both of you start tearing clothes off. Once you're bare you start touching him everywhere. A-Rab is an addiction: stronger than booze, dames, and cigarettes rolled into one. You rake your teeth against his neck, marking him as your own. You yank off his underpants and spit into your hand. As usual, you hear his breath hitch. A-Rab is quaking in anticipation, like always. It's a small comfort to see he's still the same.
You shove into him easily. In the beginning, A-Rab used to hiss and squeak like a girl. You would have to pull out and prep him. But sex has become so routine he just opens up to you. You like that. Deep inside, some sick, sadistic part of you loves that. As you shove in and out, he screams so loud you at first wonder why the neighbors haven't complained yet. Then again, they make their own noise so who the fuck would they be to complain?
Finally you burst, spilling inside of him. Moments later A-Rab follows you over the edge, splattering all over your stomachs. You grab him by the hair and smash your lips together. He kisses back. Eventually you lie back and doze off.
Maybe you do understand A-Rab's language of love. You yourself admit to thoughts of running away. But where to? Every so often you'll pick up a newspaper and read revolutionary things are starting to happen concerning gays. You aren't gay but if you're fucking a boy I guess it puts in contention to be gay.
You cuddle closer to A-Rab and mutter, "run away with me," in your sleep.
Reviews are love!